


keep breathing

by lookforanewangle



Series: behind your darkest doubts | whumptober 2020 [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Buried Alive, Cuddling, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Near-Death Experience, No proofreading we die like mne, Panic, Racing against the clock, Rescue, Trouble breathing, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020, acceptance of death, no one dies tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26828038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookforanewangle/pseuds/lookforanewangle
Summary: He was always trained not to panic.Panicking leaves room for rookie mistakes,Bruce had told him once.It causes you to make errors you can't afford to make, and wouldn't make otherwise. Take a breath and examine your surroundings. Panic can come later.—No 4. RUNNING OUT OF TIMECaged |Buried Alive| Collapsed Building&No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?On the Run | Failed Escape |Rescue
Relationships: Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne
Series: behind your darkest doubts | whumptober 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951099
Comments: 9
Kudos: 167





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> tim's turn for some whump :) ~~lyss is posting before 1am for once?? what??~~

He was always trained not to panic.

 _Panicking leaves room for rookie mistakes,_ Bruce had told him once _. It causes you to make errors you can't afford to make, and wouldn't make otherwise. Take a breath and examine your surroundings. Panic can come later._

And therein lies the problem. 

Being buried alive meant lack of oxygen, and all the reason in the world to panic.

 _This is how Jason felt_ , Tim thinks, clawing desperately at the wooden plank above him. _I’m going to die here_.

He's lucky, he thinks, in that they left him with his gloves and boots. But he has no mask to help analyze the material or how far down he was. No belt, so no tools to assist or light to see.

He'd already tried calling for Kon minutes ago. The backup distress beacon in his glove hadn't activated.

No one was coming.

 _Okay_ , he thinks, taking a shallow breath and pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. It's getting harder to breathe. _Okay. Feel for weaknesses, work on those._

He lifts his hands to the wooden panels above him again, fingers skimming along for any latches or nicks.

_There._

He's just digging his fingers into the gaps in the wood when his comm screeches to life in his ear, static blaring and cutting up whoever is reaching out to him. Tim stills, hope blooming hesitantly in his chest.

_"...in...epor..."_

"...Hello?"

_"Rob...can you he...pleas...repor…"_

Slowly the static begins to clear. Tim's eyes burn and his chest constricts. _Someone's coming._

 _"...bin_ **_report_ ** _."_

"Bruce," Tim sobs, relieved.

_"Tim? Tim ...ere are you?"_

"Buried somewhere, I don't know."

There's silence over the line. Tim's heart skips a beat.

"Bruce?" he asks, dread lacing his tone.

_"I'm here. Oracle is tracking your location."_

"Please hurry," he whispers.

 _"I'm coming, Tim,"_ Bruce says, tone comforting but strained. _He's scared too,_ Tim thinks. _"I am going to talk, and you are going to save your oxygen. You are_ **_not_ ** _to respond unless prompted, understood?"_

"Yes," he replies, anxiety creeping up his spine again. Bruce could be hours away; Tim was unconscious before being put in the box, and didn't wake until he could hear shovelfuls of dirt trapping him in. He could have been transported anywhere before that.

His breath hitches.

_"Robin. I need you to stay calm and focus on my voice. Can you do that?"_

"Yeah," he croaks. "Yeah I can do that."

_"Good."_

Bruce talks, and Tim listens, picking away at the wood as he does so. _Just in case_ , he thinks. _Just in case he's too far out_.

Tim has a headache.

It's getting harder to breathe with every passing second. He used up too much air during his initial panic.

 _Panicking leaves room for rookie mistakes_ , Batman scolds in his mind.

 _Shut up,_ he hisses back, teeth gritting as he sucks in a shallow breath.

It's minutes later that there's a revving over the comm.

_"We've found your location. I'm on my way, Tim. Ten minutes. Just hold on."_

"Hurry," he gasps, head pounding and chest tight. He closes his eyes, slowly draws in the biggest breath he can and holds it, listens to Bruce speeding towards him in his ear. Oracle chatters over the comm and Bruce grunts in response, and Tim releases the breath. Takes another.

Another minute passes.

Two.

Five minutes, six, and his head and chest hurt so much. He feels floaty.

Another minute, and red and gray stars are bouncing in the darkness.

"B," he says weakly. "B, I... I'm gonna pass out." The engine revs viciously over the comm.

_"I'm almost there, Tim. Two minutes. Just hold on."_

"We had... a good run, didn't we?"

_"Don't talk like that," Bruce growls. "You're going to make it."_

"Okay," he whispers. His ears are ringing. "Thank you anyway. You...this...isn't your fault. Don't blame...yourself like...like you did with Jason." Who would be Robin if Tim died? Steph was gone, Dick would never return to the mantle. It'd be like what happened after Jason all over again.

_"...Tim. Save your breath."_

His breath hitches. "Promise me," he breathes so quietly he's not sure Bruce heard him.

_"I promise, only because you are going to make it. I'm almost there, Tim, just stay with me."_

Tim sighs, eyes slipping closed and hands falling to his chest.

"Don't...wanna...leave you 'lone…'gain..."

_"Tim. ...Tim!"_

Bruce's voice fades away as Tim slips into oblivion.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Don’t let me be too late,_ he thinks desperately as he digs. _Not again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a slight balm during the whump <3

_“Tim!”_

Bruce leaps from the Batmobile when he arrives, the car skidding away and to a stop as he dives to the ground. He digs as fast as he can, burying his hands deep in the packed earth and throwing dirt out and to the waysides. _Don’t let me be too late,_ he thinks desperately as he digs. _Not again_. The dirt is still loose from the recent burial, and he’s able to dig down to the box much faster than if it had settled longer.

In less than five minutes he strikes wood. He wastes no time in clearing off the rest of the crude container and rips the lid from the base of the box.

Tim lies there, eyes closed and still, and Bruce’s heart stutters in his chest.

_God, please no._

Images flash across his mind of another body, broken and bleeding and buried in rubble and ash. He shakes his head roughly to clear it from his vision and reaches down to pull his boy from this makeshift casket. He holds Tim close as he fights his way back to steady ground, the loose dirt shifting beneath his heels and making the ascent more difficult.

He drops to his knees when they reach the top, gingerly laying Tim out in front of him. He rips off the cowl, pressing his ear to Tim’s chest. It rises and falls mere millimeters and both his pulse and breath are far too quick, but he’s breathing. Bruce heaves a shaky sigh in relief, pulling Tim back to his chest and rushing to the Batmobile.

 _He’s alive,_ he thinks. _He’s alive he’s alive he’s alive._

“Hold on, sweetheart,” Bruce murmurs, maneuvering Tim to one arm and lowering the passenger seat flat. He lays him down, affixing an oxygen mask to Tim’s face and strapping him in. The boy coughs weakly, eyebrows furrowing, and Bruce spares a brief moment to cup Tim’s face, to brush sweaty, bloodied bangs from his forehead.

“It’s going to be all right,” he mutters, more to himself than Tim. He quickly climbs into the car, ensures that Tim is secure, and speeds off into the night.

****

Bruce is just beginning to doze off in the chair perched next to the cot when Tim startles awake with a gasp. Bruce is sitting upright and reaching for him when Tim starts to cough.

“Easy,” Bruce murmurs, helping Tim sit up and back against the pillows. Tim squints up at him.

“B?”

“I’m here.”

“Y—you made it,” Tim whispers, eyes falling closed in relief. “I’m sorry,” he continues after a moment. “I—”

Bruce shushes him, running a hand through Tim’s hair. “You have nothing to be sorry for, kiddo. I just wish I had gotten there sooner. What you went through was terrifying,” he says, and Tim’s lips tremble as he presses his face sideways into the pillows. “But you are not to blame for what happened, all right?” Tim hesitates, but nods silently with a sniff. Bruce watches him silently for a moment, before pushing to his feet.

“Scoot.”

Tim turns to look at him, shocked, before sliding over in the cot. Bruce slides under the blankets and tugs Tim into his arms and against his chest. Tim stills, startled. Bruce just pulls him in close, presses a kiss to his hair, and squeezes tight.

“I’m glad you’re all right, Tim.”

“Yeah,” Tim whispers, burying into Bruce’s embrace with a sigh. “Yeah, me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed your nugget of comfort, because tomorrow is gonna hurt :)

**Author's Note:**

> it doesn't entirely fit, but I had ingrid michaelson's "keep breathing" in mind while working on this, which is what inspired the fic title! chapter two will go up tomorrow for day 5's prompt, and then I have day 6 done, but I'm not sure how much more I'll be doing after that. we'll see!!


End file.
